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Meridian

“I admit I don’t know what the hell you and Ex are doing,” Corvo gritted, “but I don’t like being kept in the dark. When the fuck did you become partners with the Browns?”

“Since we were almost killed together,” Meridian answered.

“Speaking of…when are you two gonna tell me what happened over there?”

Corvo followed them around while they assessed the training ground for the four-man simulation.

“How can I figure out anything when you’re making me work blind?”

“When we know, we’ll let you know,” Meridian droned.

“Nice. Thanks, guys.” Corvo tiredly rubbed his forehead.

“Browns are moving,” their handler, Spectre, said from behind the observation booth.

“And how do you even know you can trust Mirage and Grace?” Corvo argued. “One doesn’t even fuckin’ speak, for Christ’s sake. How can you communicate effectively?”

“I thought it odd myself.” Ex shrugged. “Until I saw them together. It has to be the serums.”

Corvo looked confused.

Meridian smirked.

“See for yourself. I swear you won’t see a greater performance from synchronized swimmers.”

Corvo was about to continue arguing until Grace turned the corner.

He looked fly as fuck in a new, espresso-colored midthigh trench with an oversized hood and a thick cream sweater. The holster he wore housed five handguns, two of them Desert Eagles. Those weapons fired bullets that left his targets with only a quarter of a face.

His dark hair was slicked back, naturally curling at the ends.

Mirage was nowhere in sight.

“My team is ready. Let’s get this started. We have a lot to cover, Corvo.”

“Is your partner joining you?” Corvo frowned.

Grace gave him a brisk nod.

“Well, where is he?”

Mirage slowly stepped from behind Grace, making Corvo flinch like a frightened cat.

“I’m right here.” Mirage stared from beneath his hood for a moment before he gestured for Spectre to start.

Meridian winked at his partner. “You ready?”

“Always,” Ex answered.

Countless realistic holographs filled the dimly lit training facility as the control booth changed from sunset to dark.

Grace moved as his name suggested. His every step was deliberate and calculated to keep Mirage concealed at all times.

Meridian remembered hearing that Grace was known for his unparalleled marksmanship, but the way he fired and hit his targets with remarkable calmness was unbelievable.

His finger moved over the trigger with a speed that defied the eye.

Shots from his chrome .45s echoed like thunder around the room as he took down holographic images with uncanny vigor.

At one point, he and Meridian were side by side, taking down men six at a time while Mirage watched their backs, unleashing a flurry of sleek, midnight-colored blades that sliced through the air in silence.

Mirage moved inside Grace’s shadow with an elegance that blurred the lines between real and impossible. He was true to his name, an optical illusion confusing the staff in the booth.

The moment Mirage revealed his twenty-inch fighting knives, Meridian pulled Whisper from his trench and swung high while Mirage went low.

Four men came in behind them, and Grace threw up one side of his armored trench and blocked the barrage of bullets before he lowered it in time for Meridian to turn and eliminate the threat.

Ex scaled the side of the wall, firing in the same direction as Grace, making kill shots in perfect sync. He hit the floor less than a foot from Meridian, and the three ended up back-to-back.

Meridian sheathed his stiletto sword and raised his Magnums. Grace had both arms extended, holding Berettas in his large hands as Ex drew his .45s. Backs together, they began rotating in a tight circle.

Mirage was camouflaged in the middle, rotating and twisting his body so he could throw his blades over Grace’s broad shoulders, past Ex’s narrow waist, and between Meridian’s long legs.

The booth made them push their skills to the limit as if they were pissed off that nothing they hurled at them made it within fifty feet of harming either a Black or Brown.

The four men obliterated each program, every simulation harder than the last.

After three weeks of twice-a-day training, they’d choreographed a deadly dance.

By the end of the month, they’d formulated a new fighting stance, three of them back-to-back with Mirage hidden in the middle.

No one would know where the phantom blades were coming from.

It was a unique advantage to have on their enemies.

The tech members operating the holograph training program and their handlers were on their feet, staring down at them as if they were the rarest, scariest animals in the world.

What was more satisfying was the director watching from the door, appearing ten times more afraid than he’d been at the debriefing.

None of them looked away.

Meridian could only imagine how the director felt with four physically and mentally enhanced assassins with concealed faces glaring in his direction.